


Teach Me To Want (I Only Need You)

by XansyIsMoi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Could be angsty, Depends on what you guys choose, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Thinks He Is a Monster, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Mess, Happy Ending, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, We ride at dawn bitches, because, big Beauty small Brain, geralt says >:( and jaskier says <3 why are you still here, geralt says “hm”, god geralt really do be an idiot sometimes, hey ow that one hurt :(, in which i take canon out back and beat it with a stick, jaskier is like a lovesick puppy istg get the man some help please, no beta we die like witchers, or we would but roach needs her beauty sleep and jaskier is grumpy if he rises before the sun, thats it, thats the entire thing, the man is blind and emotionally constipated okay leave him alone, theyre idiots, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XansyIsMoi/pseuds/XansyIsMoi
Summary: "Witchers can't feel. They have no emotions, no desire, no distaste. They can't want, and so they ask for nothing. Nothing but contracts to kill."These are words that Geralt lives by. They make up who he is. He is a Witcher, and Witcher's don't- can't- feel.Jaskier seems to think otherwise.Or,Geralt wants something, Jaskier notices, and teaches him that it's okay to want.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to go into The White Wolf and His Bard, but I think I want to do more with this ;)  
> Enjoy!

Geralt whirls with a growl, his face mere inches from Jaskier’s,

“What do you want from me?”

Jaskier doesn’t even blink, “I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Try again.”

“ _Nothing_ is wrong.”

“Ah-ah.”

Geralt growls, deep his chest, agitation burning in his golden eyes, “Nothing. Is. Wrong.”

Jaskier merely tsks and shakes his head, “That’s simply not true, dear heart.”

The Witcher spins on his heel and stalks away, to the other side of their camp, furious at what the night had come to. He wishes they could go back to before- they’d been settled down to sleep, previously.

———

_Jaskier hums softly, sitting up against a tree, plucking at the strings of his lute. Geralt was laid on his side next to the bard, back to the musician. Loathe as he was to admit it, hearing- feeling- Jaskier behind him, safe and content, was soothing. Calming._

_It made the animal in Geralt, ever alert, settle down in his chest. He hears Jaskier shift, and the animal lifts its head, curious, but the bard is simply tucking his instrument back into it’s protective casing before he leans back against the tree once more. He’s still humming quietly, and Geralt settles once more, golden eyes shut against the night. He feels relaxed, calm, more so than he has in ages._

_Then he feels Jaskier slip a hand into his hair, and he almost tenses- almost curls away like he usually does when Jaskier reaches out, almost snaps at the bard to fuck off. He doesn’t know what’s different tonight, but he holds back._

_It’s not bad, the slow slip of the bard’s lithe fingers through his silvery locks- in fact, it’s rather... pleasant. Geralt melts into the touch, and he can smell Jaskier’s joy radiating off him in waves, and it’s the best thing Geralt could ever ask for- not that he ever would._

_Because he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Jaskier’s kindness, his gentle touches, his love. Then he’s tense again, golden eyes open and hard, glaring at the darkness of the forest around them._

_“Geralt?”_

_The hand in his hair stills, and- dammit, dammit,_ _dammit_ _\- Geralt whines, soft and low in his throat. Jaskier pulls his hand away completely, and that- that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Geralt curls up._

_“Did I do something wrong?”_

_The Witcher shakes his head minutely._

_“What’s wrong, then?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_“Geralt,” And Geralt can hear the frown in his bard’s voice, can smell the worry and disappointment, and it urges him to his feet. Jaskier blinks and scoots back a little, clearly startled by Geralt’s abrupt movements, but taking them in stride as he stands, too._

_“There’s obviously something wrong, you oaf. You were fine just a minute ago.”_

_Geralt shoots a glare in Jaskier’s direction, but he knows he’s right. Which is the problem. Geralt_ _shouldn’t_ _have been fine with the... petting. He’s a Witcher, not something that deserved tenderness. The bard merely rolls his eyes, but Geralt can still smell the sour scent of worry. He turns away._

_“Oh, come now, Geralt. Talk to me.”_

_Geralt remains quiet and still, staring into the forest._

_“Geralt.”_

_Silence. But silence never bothered Jaskier before, and never stopped him from pestering the Witcher for minutes on end. And now, here they are._

_———_

Jaskier sighs softly and settles back down against the tree. His voice is gentle when he speaks, void of all it’s previous matter-of-fact know-it-all attitude. Instead, it’s open, raw- almost loving. 

“I don’t know why you continue to hide from me, my sweet wolf, when I’m the only one who can see right through you.”

And he leaves it at that. He doesn’t say another word, leaving the floor open for Geralt to speak. Eventually, as Jaskier knew he would, he does.

“I-“

Geralt swallows around a dry tongue, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, warring with himself as he forces- spits- the words out.

“I want.”

Jaskier’s silent for a few beats before he prompts, “You want?”

The Witcher nods, turning just a little, just enough for his amber gaze to settle on the bard. Jaskier is quick to look away before Geralt can catch him watching- he doesn’t like Geralt hiding from him, but he knows how important it is that Geralt isn’t seen like this- isn’t seen vulnerable. Jaskier will make an allowance, just this once, just for now.

“I want...”

What does he want? There’s too much to list, yet there’s nothing to list. Geralt isn’t allowed to want, but he does, _so much._ It’s overwhelming, and he can’t talk, just lowers his gaze to the fire between them.

It takes Jaskier a few moments to realize that Geralt isn’t going to- _can’t-_ finish. The bard stands and carefully makes his way over to the Witcher, movements slow and open. He doesn’t miss how Geralt’s eyes track his movements intently, doesn’t miss how his head ducks just a little, how he shifts his weight to the foot farthest from Jaskier. Jaskier stops, a few feet away from Geralt, then holds out his hand. Geralt wants this, he can tell by how he’s fixated on his open hand- and Jaskier wants it, too. But he refuses to initiate anything, refuses to force something that might overwhelm his Witcher.

So he’s content in waiting for Geralt to make his decision.Jaskier’s eyes are steady on Geralt’s face, watching his eyes flit between the bard’s hand and the bard’s eyes. He’s unsure- scared, even, and _gods_ , if that doesn’t drive a dagger through Jaskier’s heart. Jaskier merely gives a kind smile. To his surprise, Geralt focuses in on it for a few moments before his fist loosens.

There’s another glance up to Jaskier’s gentle eyes, then one more to his outstretched hand, then Geralt’s reaching out, taking Jaskier’s hand ever so carefully in his own. It’s trembling minutely, but Jaskier doesn’t mention it. Instead, he squeezes Geralt’s hand gently with his own, then slowly leads the Witcher back to their bedrolls. Sitting down on his own- still holding Geralt’s hand- he looks up.

“Lay down?”

It isn’t a demand, simply a suggestion, leaving Geralt the option to say no- and for that, he’s eternally grateful for Jaskier. The Witcher complies slowly, settling down on his side facing Jaskier. The bard watches him quietly, offering a soft smile of encouragement. Geralt feels something warm bloom in his chest. His first instinct is to squash it- _Witchers can’t feel-_ but when he looks back to his and Jaskier’s entwined hands, he decides that particular expectation simply cannot be met. He feels- he’s felt for awhile, now. 

Witchers can feel. It’s just easier to pretend they can’t. If they can’t feel, they can’t be hurt. Alternatively, if they can’t feel, they can’t experience love. Warmth. Tender care.

Geralt wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He may have insisted against emotions at first, may have scoffed at feelings, but this? Geralt thinks it’s worth it. Vulnerability. It’s okay to be open, now, because he can trust Jaskier with his heart. 

Jaskier’s free hand is moving, obvious in it’s intent, but it doesn’t make contact, not quiet yet.

“Is it alright if I touch your hair.”

And for the first time in his life, Geralt lets the walls crumble, pushes away the years of repressing his emotions, and nods.

‘ _This is worth it,’_ He thinks as Jaskier’s hand cards through thick, white strands.

This is worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t talk about it, yet. Geralt is confused, Jaskier is kind- not much fluff, but there’s some sweetness in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! Enjoy!

Geralt wakes up slowly, which is- rare. Usually he awakens with a jolt, from a nightmare- not that he has those- or wakes up quick and alert, usually from a branch snapping or Jaskier shifting wrong in his sleep. It’s.... Geralt doesn’t want to use the word pleasant, nothing in his life should be  pleasant- but it’s something he could get used to. He’s laid on his side, facing-

Jaskier.

Jaskier, the gentle bard who treats Geralt with far too much kindness, so much more than he deserves.

Jaskier, who’s still propped up against the tree behind him, fast asleep, head tilted back and mouth slightly agape.

Jaskier, whose hand is still in Geralt’s hair.

The witcher draws in a sharp breath, freezing, but Jaskier doesn’t stir. Of course not- human senses are rather dull compared to those of a witcher’s. Geralt exhales slowly, relishing in the warmth of Jaskier’s hand in his hair before he pulls away slowly, letting the bard’s hand fall to land with a soft thump on his bedroll. The Witcher rolls up into a comfortable crouch next to his roll, pausing a moment longer to watch Jaskier’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, to listen to the soft whistle of a bard’s sleeping breaths.

Then Geralt is up, turning away, heart beating unnervingly fast. He catches Roach’s gaze and flares when she snorts quietly at him. 

“Quiet, you.” The low grumble is almost lost to the rustling of leaves around them, but Roach tosses her head and Geralt knows she heard. 

Slowly, quietly, Geralt begins to break camp, sliding his bedroll a little ways away from Jaskier before rolling it up. 

Geralt’s hefting Roach’s saddle up to settle it on her back when he hears Jaskier stir behind him. The bard speaks through a yawn. “Y’ shoulda woke me up, I would’ve ‘elped.” But he doesn’t sound truly upset, so Geralt merely hums, adjusting Roach’s saddlebags. It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to roll up his bedroll and tuck it into one of Roach’s saddlebags, lute case slung over his shoulder. He pauses to look at Geralt, gaze carefully analytical. 

“You look well-rested, wolf.”

It’s a casual statement, a mere observation, but it makes Geralt pause. He doesn’t want to admit that he slept better than he has in ages, and he definitely doesn’t want to think about how it’s most definitely a result of Jaskier’s... proximity. In fact, he doesn’t want to think of last night at all, in any sense or form so, true to character, the Witcher grunts and takes Roach’s reigns, leading the trio back to the little road they’d been following for the past few days. If they keep moving at the same pace, they’ll reach the next town by nightfall. Jaskier, as always, is only a few steps behind the Witcher, humming softly. They walk like that for a few miles- Geralt leading silently, and Jaskier trailing behind as he plucks at the strings of his lute. It’s nice- peaceful, even, and Geralt tilts his head up just a little to let the sun warm his pale face. He doesn’t hear Jaskier fall silent behind him.

——————

Just as Geralt thought, they reach the next town by nightfall. The sky is colored in swirls of reds, oranges, and purples, warning the people of the town that it’s time to go home, tuck themselves in, recharge. A few of said people glance at the white haired man and his companion as they pass, but this town is kind towards Geralt’s kind, and they simply offer a smile.

“Nice to see civility.”

Geralt is almost surprised at Jaskier’s voice. The bard had been humming and muttering, but he hadn’t outright said anything for hours.

“You see it all the time, bard.”

“Yeah. Not towards you, though. Nice change of pace.”

Geralt snorts and leads Roach to the stable, gathering their bags and handing her off to the stableboy with only a little hesitance before he turns back around to face Jaskier.

“Humans don’t like non-humans. You know that.”

Jaskier hums and tilts his head as he starts towards the inn door. “Doesn’t mean they’re right, dear heart.” 

Geralt watches him for a moment before he sighs and follows. When he gets inside, Jaskier is already chatting up the innkeeper, bargaining for a room in exchange for a performance. The bard beams when the kind old lady agrees, gesturing towards the mock stage on the other side of the room. As Jaskier passes Geralt, he pauses to look up and murmur, “Room is upstairs, on the left at the end of the corridor. Don’t wait to eat and rest, wolf.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s gaze because the bard, bless his heart, couldn’t keep a secret for shit. All words unspoken are there, shining in his bright, patient eyes.

_ At the end of the corridor, because you can’t stand to have your back open. _

_ To the left, at the back of the building because you need an easy escape. _

_ Don’t wait, because crowds bother you. _

_ I know all these things, and have taken them into consideration because I love you. _

It’s exactly the kind of look that makes Geralt tense up, the one that Jaskier casts on him so often. This time, however, Geralt merely dips his head.

“Don’t hide your sausage in the wrong pantry, bard. I’d rather not fight a hoard of cuckholds again.”

Jaskier laughs, a light, joyful thing before he strides towards the stage, plucking chords on his instrument to garner the attention of the tavern’s patrons. Geralt turns to order some food and a bath, taking his dinner up the stairs and following Jaskier’s directions to their room. 

While he’s eating, a few barmaids enter, carrying buckets of steaming water to pour into the tub in the corner. They cycle through twice more, and Geralt gives one of them a few crowns as she takes his now-empty tray on her way out. She glances up at him in surprise, but she curtsies shallowly and exits, leaving Geralt to his own devices. He closes the door and stands in the middle of the room for a few moments, silent. 

He breathes deep, scenting the stale air that smells of old perfumes and dust. He closes his eyes, listening to the tavern below, listening to his bard as he riles up the crowd with a jaunty jig. The sound brings an amused smirk to the Witcher’s lips, and he takes only a moment more before he sets about stripping, peeling his armor off, then his jerkin and trousers, and eventually his smallclothes. 

The bath water is toeing the line between hot and scalding- just how he likes it. He’s quick to start scrubbing at his skin, wiping away afew days’ worth of dust and dirt and sweat. The Witcher ends up swiping a bar of Jaskier’s soap- the one that smells of oats and honey- and lathering himself, scrubbing until his skin is back to its original pallor complexion. He then moves to his hair, working a lather into his snowy strands and rinsing them quickly. It’s much more pleasant when Jaskier does it, but Geralt tries not to dwell on that fact. 

Once the Witcher is sure that not a single sud remains on his person, he stands and wraps himself in one of the towels that had been residing next to the tub. The thin material of the towel does little to absorb the water as he attempts to pat himself dry, but he finds he doesn’t care. 

Geralt simply dresses in a soft, loose shirt and even softer, looser trousers before he settles into his usual nightly routine, gathering his things and organizing them neatly in one pile. His swords are leaned against the wall on his side of the bed- the side closest to the door- and a dagger is hidden beneath his pillow, just in case. Geralt refuses to smile at the memory of Jaskier calling him paranoid. Finally, the Witcher settles on his knees by the foot of the bed, facing the door with his eyes closed. He takes a slow, deep breath, lets the sounds of the tavern below fade into a murmur, and meditates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry that this one isn’t that good. School has been beating me up and it’s been a rough day and I just wanted to post something. Sorry it took so long

**Author's Note:**

> So, this could go one of two ways- or both, depending on the order. This could go the fluffy route, have Jaskier gradually teach Geralt that it's okay to feel and be open until he eventually needs no prompting from his bard, or it could go the angsty route- where Geralt realizes how big a mistake it was to let Jaskier in. Let me know in the comments which way you would prefer this to go! Thanks for reading!


End file.
